Pearls Before Swine by Stephan Pastis for March 24, 2004

Come on! You stupid Goat! there’s no specific formula for a good novel! Every story is different. I have a friend that started a novel with, “The dragon toppled to the ground, the life taken from him.” And it was a great story! So just shut up!

“There’s something going on,” I muttered to myself. “I know. And it’s in my house.” My name’s Jake Richards. Today is December 20, 2011. I’m twelve, in sixth grade. I live on 386 Wood Street, in West Barnstable, Massachusetts. I have two brothers and a sister. I guess you want to know what I was talking about a minute ago. Well, I’ll tell you. I was talking about a hand. A hand that appears in 386 Wood Street, Cummaquid, MA. In my bedroom. It’s a disembodied, ghostly hand, a gray glove tinted with pale patterns. Something from a horror movie or ghost story but worse–because it’s real. It’s happening, actually happening, not playing out on a screen or in words. I don’t want to plunge you into the middle of this, though, so listen to this. It was 9:33P.M. one dark, snowy December night, December 17. The wind howled through the trees, tossing falling snow wildly around. I suddenly heard a pained, raspy groan, followed by a mournful whine. I figured it was my brother Mark, who’s always pranking me. I ignored the eerie noise, sticking my nose back into my scary mystery, The Forest of Fate, only to hear, moments later, a persistent tapping noise. As I turned to look, I realized it was coming from deep within my large closet. I strangled a scream, staring with large eyes at the twisting doorknob. Slowly…slowly, till it had gone in a full 360 degrees. Then the door opened ever so slightly, a little more, and just a little more, stopping at about halfway. My large eyes became even larger as the door jerked open violently, slamming against the closet wall–it opens to the inside–revealing…absolutely nothing. I leaped out of bed, my face white with fear. Now my throat was clear. I screamed.Screamed loud. I bounded out of my bedroom, and into Mark’s next door. Mark was my fifteen-year-old brother. He was funny, and a prankster, something that got out of hand on occasion. You might remember him from earlier. He rarely pays too much attention to me, besides when executing his admittedly brilliant practical jokes. He had his iPod up loud, nodding his head to the beat. He hadn’t heard a thing–good. I sat down, hugging my legs to my body, squashed in a corner. Hoping Mark couldn’t see me. I knew if he did, he’d never let me hear the end of it. I waited a minute, recovering, but all the while knowing I still looked terrified. My eyes the size of plates, my face white as snow, I stood up, letting Mark see me. He didn’t, so I fell back to the corner. I coughed loudly, to see if he would notice. Of course not. I tapped him. He yelled out, then laughed as he realized it was me. Turning towards me, his smile faded. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said softly, seriously. This was rare for Mark. He seemed always to be joking and laughing. “I think I have,” I breathed.

first chapter of a story I’m writing

yes I’m only ten i know

his is not my address btw

This is the last time we see goat with a beard on his chin

Good story start Claire!

The Monkey was thrilled by a new car.“Oprah’s on,” said Fred the monkey.

The Monkey was thrilled by a new car.“Oprah’s on,” said Fred the monkey.

Sure, if you want to write something formulaic and dull.